


Home Again

by spikesgirl58



Series: Hot Tropical Nights [4]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya is afraid that the big city is calling Napoleon back to go back home.  Written for 2014 Valentine's Day Challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kanders07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanders07/gifts).



  

 

Napoleon relaxed in the hammock and let the swish of the palm fronds wash over him.  After four months on the road promoting his newest book, his nerves were a frazzled mess.  Now he knew why Illya refused to leave the islands any more than necessary.

Closing his eyes, he breathed in the tropical air.  It was salty from the ocean and sweet from the hedges of flowers that surrounded their little home in Avaturo.  Within its walls, he felt safe and loved, truly loved, not as Napoleon Solo, the writer, but as Napoleon Solo, the man.

Gentle lips pressed against his forehead and Napoleon opened his eyes.  Illya was bending over him, smiling down.  “Breakfast is ready.  Are you okay?”

“Just happy to be home.”  Napoleon reached for Illya and pulled him close for a long kiss.  “You don’t know how much I have missed these.”

“I think I do or at least I know how much I have.”  Illya eased himself into the hammock carefully, so as to not tip them out.

“I can’t believe how much I missed all of this.  One morning I could hear the waves and smell the frangi.  I woke myself up laughing.  Then I wanted to cry because I was in Chicago.  Don’t get me wrong, Chicago was nice and all, but –“

“It wasn’t home.”

“It wasn’t you.”

Their discussion dissolved into a series of kisses and murmured endearments.   Napoleon felt Illya’s penis digging into his hip, but he did nothing more than tighten his grip about the slim waist of his lover.  

“We should go in,” he whispered into Illya’s ear before licking it.

“No one will see us and if they hear us _, je n'en ai rien à faire_.”

“If we get tipped out and onto the ground, I will care.  Those shells are deadly.”

“ _C'est vrai_ ,” Illya admitted with a sigh.  “The problem is that I don’t think I can move.”

“Can’t or don’t want to?”

Illya ground his hips into Napoleon’s.  “What do you think?”

“You are going to be the death of me.”

“But what a way to go.”  Then Illya gracefully got to his feet and held out a hand.  “ _Venir avec moi._ ”

Without hesitation, Napoleon took the pre-offered hand and pulled Illya into an embrace, then he winced.  “Ouch.”

Illya looked down at Napoleon’s bare feet.  “You have lost your calluses.  We will have to build them back up.”

“What do you suggest?” Napoleon asked as he limped into the house.  

“Let’s get you naked.”  

Napoleon grinned, thinking back to a time when he would never have let anyone see him in his underwear, much less naked.  For a long time, he’d battled his dead mother over the engrained belief that nudity was an offense against God.  Illya had taught him it was anything but.

He let his shorts fall down to his ankles and stepped out of them.  He stretched out on the bed and watched Illya divest himself quickly of his shorts and loose shirt.  HIs skin beneath was bronze from the sun and it looked twice as dark against Napoleon’s.

“You look like you did when you first came here.”  Illya straddled him so that their penises could rub together.  “Do you remember our first time?”

“In the rain… at Kia Ora.”  Napoleon tipped his head back as Illya’s hand encompassed both of them.  “You were teaching me to… ah.”

“Trust me.”  Illya’s hand picked up the pace and conversation evolved into groans and frantic cries.  Illya froze in mid-stroke, his mouth open in a silent scream.  

Napoleon tried to keep his eyes open for there was nothing he loved to watch as much as Illya climaxing, but he was too close to his own.  He gasped thrust up hard and felt his heart pounding in his ears as he ejaculated.

“Oh, God, I’ve missed this.”  Illya flopped to one side with a happy sigh. “It just isn’t the same by yourself.”

“Those long distance calls, though. I was amazed that the phone didn’t melt.”  Napoleon found his shirt and offered it to Illya to wipe off his hand.  “I am so glad to be home.”

“You don’t miss New York?”  Illya cleaned himself off, then tended to Napoleon.  “You don’t miss all the excitement and the opportunities that a big city offers?”

“I miss my old friends, but no.  How could anything in New York compare to the sunset over the horizon or the stars?”  Napoleon turned on his side, tracing random patterns on Illya’s stomach.  “Have you ever seen snow?”

Illya nodded.  “In France.  My uncle took me to the mountains.  It was wonderful for about ten minutes.  Then I was done with it.  Once an island boy always an island boy.”

“I want you to picture something.”

“Then you need to stop doing what you are doing because my mind is racing in another direction.”

“Fair enough.”  Napoleon flipped to his back and lifted his hands in the air.  “Think of a tree-lined street with an iron fence on both sides.  There are structures set back from the road on one side and there’s a river on the other.  There’s even a small bench where one could sit and watch the world go by. “

“It sounds lovely.” 

“It is some days.  Normally the trees would be heavy with leaves, the lawns lush green, but today everything is buried in snow.  Deep snow, but it’s not pristine.  There are ugly tire tracks down the road marring its surface.  The trees are skeletal, reaching out to a gray and uncaring sky.  The wind has blown the snow, so it coats one side, splattered it like mud splashed up on a sidewalk.  It is cold and miserable and forsaken.  It is empty and devoid of any warmth.”

“All right, I’ve got the image.”

“Now, picture, if you will, a young boy huddled against the trunk of one of those trees.  No one sees him because he is nearly buried in the snow.  Worse, there’s no one to miss him.  He’s alone and struggling to be heard.  He curls up into a tight ball, too cold to cry, too heartsick not to.”  Napoleon paused and took a breath, then resumed. “That was how I felt without you.”

Illya caught him and hugged him hard.  “ _Je t'aime. Avec moi, tu ne seras plus jamais seul_ (I love you.  With me, you will never be alone). _”_

“I know, but now you know how I felt there.  Oh, everyone made a big noise about me being there, but none of them knew me, they only knew of me.  I was so lonely all those nights.”

Illya’s voice shook slightly as he murmured, “You could have invited someone to stay.”  

“There is only one for me now.”  They kissed again and Napoleon found himself clutching Illya tightly.

“I am not going anywhere, Napoleon.  I swear this to you.”

“Me, too.”  Napoleon released him.  “I told my publisher I was through with all this flogging and that he could fire me if he wanted.  I have more than enough money to live on.”  He smiled and shook his head.  “They told me I could do whatever I wanted as long as I kept writing for them.”

“No more touring?” Illya whispered as if afraid that aloud it would vanish.

“Only with you.”  He kissed Illya’s temple.  “No more snow.”  He kissed Illya’s right eyelid.  “No more cold.”  He kissed Illya’s left eyelid.  “No more alone.”  He kissed Illya’s lips.  “Only you.”

“ _Mon amour_ _,_ _mon cœur_ _, mon tout_. (My love, my heart, my everything)”

 

 


End file.
